“One of Sir Toby’s gardeners. He had finished his work and gone home for the day, but then he remembered that he had left out the good pruning shears and he saw that it was about to rain. So he returned and was looking for the implement among the shrubs when he heard someone coming. He thought it might be Sir Toby and he did not want to get into trouble for leaving his tools behind, so he ducked down, and was surprised to see a young lady—the same young lady that he had seen that morning, in fact, wearing the same outfit she had worn in the morning—creeping furtively up toward the house as if she didn’t want to be noticed.”

He got to his feet, coming to stand over me. “It would be easier for us all if you confessed right away. Crimes of passion are understood in France. If this man violated your honor, the judge will understand that you came to confront him. Perhaps he laughed at you. Mocked you. Boasted about his control over you. And on the spur of the moment you were angry and humiliated. You picked up a heavy object and hit him. You did not mean to kill him, but he pitched forward into the pool. The court will understand this and will not pass a heavy sentence on you, I promise. The jurors have daughters. They will understand that your action was justified.”

“I would be happy to confess if any of this had happened,” I said. “Fortunately it is all untrue. I did not go to Sir Toby’s house and I did not hit him over the head. Now please release me and let me go home until I can meet you tomorrow at a civilized hour with a lawyer present.”

Lafite smiled and shook his head. “Oh, no, milady. That would not do at all. I am well aware that your relative the Prince of Wales cruises this coast on the yacht of the famous Duke of Westminster. If I let you go, I suspect they would spirit you away on this yacht and you would not be seen again. Lafite does not lose his quarry so easily.”

“But you can’t keep me here,” I said. “I’m innocent. You only have the most circumstantial evidence that just isn’t true.”

He leaned down and grinned into my face. His garlic breath nearly overwhelmed me once again. “You forget that in France we follow the Napoleonic Code. Here you are guilty until proven innocent, not the other way around. If you did not commit this murder, you will have to prove it to me and prove it to the judge.”

“Then I will do so,” I said, staring him in the eye to show that I wasn’t afraid.